In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadowlands
Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg the ancient stands.
Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song,
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng.
Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors rough and bold
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old;
And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme,
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime.
In the courtyard of the castle, bound with many an iron band,
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde’s hand;
On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian’s praise.
Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art,
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart;
And above cathedral doorways, saints and bishops carved in stone,
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own.
In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust,
And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust:
In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare,
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air.
Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart,
Lived and labored Albrecht Dürer, the Evangelist of Art;
Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand,
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land.
Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies:
Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.
Longfellow.
Pirkheimer wrote to Ulrich, “Although I have been often tried by the death of those who were dear to me, I think I have never until now experienced such sorrow as the loss of our dearest and best Dürer has caused me. And truly not without cause; for, of all men who were not bound to me by ties of blood, I loved and esteemed him the most, on account of his countless merits and rare integrity. As I know, my dear Ulrich, that you share my sorrow, I do not hesitate to allow it free course in your presence, so that we may consecrate together a just tribute of tears to our dear friend. He has gone from us, our Albert! Let us weep, my dear Ulrich, over the inexorable fate, the miserable lot of man, and the unfeeling cruelty of death. A noble man is snatched away, whilst so many others, worthless and incapable men, enjoy unclouded happiness, and have their years prolonged beyond the ordinary term of man’s life.”
Pirkheimer died two years after Dürer’s death, and was buried near him. During his last days, and therefore so long after his friend’s decease that the first violence of his emotions had fully subsided, and his mind had become calm, he wrote to Herr Tschertte of Vienna, and gave the following arraignment of the widow Dürer: “Truly I lost in Albert the best friend I ever had in the world, and nothing grieves me so much as to think that he died such an unhappy death; for after the providence of God I can ascribe it to no one but his wife, who so gnawed at his heart, and worried him to such a degree, that he departed from this world sooner than he would otherwise have done. He was dried up like a bundle of straw, and never dared to be in good spirits, or to go out into society. For this bad woman was always anxious, although really she had no cause to be; and she urged him on day and night, and forced him to hard work only for this,—that he might earn money, and leave it to her when he died. For she always feared ruin, as she does still, notwithstanding that Albert has left her property worth about six thousand gulden. But nothing ever satisfied her; and in short she alone was the cause of his death. I have often myself expostulated with her about her suspicious, blameworthy conduct, and have warned her, and told her beforehand what the end of it would be; but I have never met with any thing but ingratitude. For whoever was a friend of her husband’s, and wished him well, to him she was an enemy; which troubled Albert to the highest degree, and brought him at last to his grave. I have not seen her since his death: she will have nothing to do with me, although I have been helpful to her in many things; but one cannot trust her. She is always suspicious of anybody who contradicts her, or does not take her part in all things, and is immediately an enemy. Therefore I would much rather she should keep away from me. She and her sister are not loose characters, but, as I do not doubt, honorable, pious, and very God-fearing women; but one would rather have to do with a light woman who behaved in a friendly manner, than with such a nagging, suspicious, scolding, pious woman, with whom a man can have no peace day or night. We must, however, leave the matter to God, who will be gracious and merciful to our good Albert, for he lived a pious and upright man, and died in a very Christian and blessed manner; therefore we need not fear his salvation. God grant us grace, that we may happily follow him when our time comes!”
It is said that Raphael, after studying Dürer’s engravings, exclaimed, “Of a truth this man would have surpassed us all if he had had the masterpieces of art constantly before his eyes as we have.” Even so at the present day is it seen, that if Dürer had studied classic art, and imbibed its principles, he might have added a rare beauty to the weird ugliness and solemnity of his designs, and substituted the sweet Graces for the grim Walkyrie. Yet in that case the world would have lost the fascinations of the sad and profound Nuremberg pictures, with their terrific realism and fantastic richness.
Italy did not disdain to borrow the ideas of the transalpine artist; and even Raphael took the design of his famous picture of “The Entombment” (Lo Spasimo) from Dürer’s picture in “The Great Passion.” Titian borrowed from his “Life of the Virgin” the figure of an old woman, which he introduced in his “Presentation in the Temple.” The Florentine Pontormo copied a whole landscape from one of Dürer’s paintings; and Andrea del Sarto received many direct suggestions from his works.